International Assignments

Qantas first class travel was an airline industry benchmark back in the '70's and if you could afford it, the only way to fly. But as a lowly paid cameraman where even a flight from Aeropelican to Sydney was beyond the budget Qantas travel was a fantasy world. And what a world ...... "Would sir like a glass of champagne with the duck a l'orange?" I'm flying high in Qantas First Class replete with silver service and it is a genuine trip, not an hallucination. Qantas was taking delivery of its first Boeing Jumbo 747s and had named them after selected Australian cities including the 'City of Newcastle'. Along with colleagues Geoff Greaves, Max Donnan and representatives of other Newcastle media outlets we were flown first class to America to join 'our' aircraft's maiden flight to Australia. Does it get any better than this? Probably not. 

But it was not without its moments. Although we were to be in the States for only a few days we were expected to bring back some stories for the evening bulletin. Our first hurdle was actually trying to enter the States. It took a lot of explaining to convince customs that I wasn't importing the camera equipment. They were tools of trade that I would be using over the next few days. With that accomplished and after a bite to eat it was off to the cinema for a screening of the recently released, controversial porn flick "Deep Throat". Given that it was banned in Australia this was an opportunity not be missed for a group of blokes a long way from home. Whatever the lascivious Linda did on the screen couldn't compete with the effects of jetlag and I succumbed to the more fundamental need of sleep rather than titillation.

Spokane is only a hop, step and jump from the Boeing plant in Seattle, which was to be our final destination. Spokane was a small city with a population of only 180,000 (250,000 if the metropolitan area was included) yet hosted the 1974 World's Fair, the smallest city to ever do so. It provided us with some of the necessary soft news stories we were seeking. Naturally the main one was to come from Boeing. Like Newcastle, Seattle was a company town in this case the company being Boeing. Theirs was an enormous operation of which I filmed only a minute part. The detail has faded but the memory of a production line of Jumbos remains. Out on the tarmac these flying behemoths tend to lose a little perspective but consolidated albeit in various stages of construction within a factory, an inadequate descriptor, their scale is overwhelming. 

The Space Needle in Seattle was constructed for the 1962 World's Fair and featured an innovative revolving restaurant at its top. The more memorable element of our visit to this spectacular architectural edifice was paying for the meal. The cashier on hearing our Australian accent asked "Oh are you all from Australia?" We dutifully said yes. She then asked "Do they speak English down there?" 

Before any nationalistic pride could kick in one of the wits in our crew I think Ed Webster from 2HD quipped, "Nah ... but we're learning." And yes we had kangaroos as pets and ate witchetty grubs for an entree...

The 'City of Newcastle's' maiden flight to Sydney was a lost journey for me. With my filming commitments complete and free champagne on offer it was time to relax and unwind at 30,000 feet. A potent cocktail it proved to be for I think I passed out before we reached cruising level. Hangovers are dreadful things even more so when you have to work under their impact. On arrival in Sydney I was informed that I would have to film the hand over ceremony on the tarmac. This was not on my schedule. Jetlag, alcohol, glaring, morning sunshine… welcome home Barry! Now start filming. Ouch! Our luxurious treatment courtesy of Qantas was in stark contrast to the final leg of our journey home to Newcastle courtesy of NSW Government Railways. We could have flown to New Zealand in less time. A rusted hulk is all that now remains of the Sygna, a former bulk carrier which ran aground on Stockton Beach in 1974 while we were swanning around in America. The biggest story that had occurred since I had started in the newsroom and I missed it because I was out of the country. It was a frustrating and bemusing coincidence, something like having your cake and eating it too.

Fortunately the US trip was not my last international assignment. I spent ten days working in New Zealand with a delightful country gentleman, Ted Hebblewhite. He produced a rural programme and I was loaned to him to gather some farming perspectives from New Zealand for the show.

As this was a programme specifically for farmers I hade a few lessons to learn about their specialised perspectives. As Ted diplomatically explained: "The farmer's not interested in the front end of the cattle. He wants to see the business end, the back end that's what he is paying for, udders and rumps." Righto then tits and bums it is, lesson learnt. Funny how the male perspective varies little.

We were doing a story on artificial insemination of cows which required filming from a respectable distance a sequence on collecting the semen from the bull. To my knowledge there is really only one way of capturing semen for later use, was I about to learn another lesson? Not quite. The farmer threw a piece of cow hide over a sturdy steel frame then helped the bull into position. Masturbation is no longer considered a 'dirty' practice but its performance on a bull gathers a significant dimension. At the critical moment the farmer slipped a sheathed receptacle over the bull's urging muscle and hung on for grim death as the seeds of the next generation were forcibly ejected into the receptacle. I couldn't help reflecting that hanging on to a bucking bull during those critical few moments required strength yet with a particular deftness of hands if the effort was not to be wasted… and no doubt a hazardous and messy learning curve.

As it was to be some weeks before the stories went to air I'd asked Ted to keep me informed so that I could see the end result for in this instance all I did was shoot them. All of the post production happened in Tamworth. On learning that one of the episodes was to be telecast on this particular Sunday I informed my mother who was interested in what I had been filming overseas. Always the proud mum she told her CWA colleagues to be watching for Countrywide on Sunday to see some of her son's work from New Zealand. They now know all about artificial insemination. Maybe I should have first checked the episode's content with Ted before encouraging others to view it. Another lesson learnt.

Days off are treasured commodities and with our roster they were only every fortnight, but they were four consecutive days when most people were only getting two. Because of high penalty rates staff were rarely asked to work on their days off. But there were exceptions. Singapore Airlines had offered the newsroom two all expenses paid tickets to Singapore for four days. In return they expected some positive stories on Singapore.

Robyn Wade was the journalist chosen but the cameramen were playing hard to get as Fin wanted whoever went to do it on their days off with no payment. I wasn't considered as I'd already enjoyed a couple of other overseas trips but in the finish I was the only one prepared to accept the conditions. It was an experience that I thought I might never be able to afford and one that couldn't be measured in monetary terms. So I had my four days off in Singapore. It would be interesting to be able to review to- ay some of what I shot over there for this was the time of Singapore's great reclamation projects. One of the stories we filmed was on the development of Jurong which is now a major industrial area but back then was still in its formative stages.

Robyn and I were not alone. We were part of a small media group on this junket being ferried around in the ubiquitous minibus. That bus showed me how cheap life was in Singapore despite its burgeoning economy. On an already narrow road we found our path ahead restricted even further by the barrow and activities of a street sweeper. Our driver seemed not to bat an eyelid as the bus destroyed the barrow and its contents and sent the street sweeper scurrying for her life. I felt guilty at being party to such a destructive expression of class difference. Singapore's growing wealth could not mask systemic prejudices.

From a cable car I caught a fleeting glimpse of the Changi POW camp. It struck a chord then. It resonates more strongly now having spent some time over the past few years reading up on Australia's war histories. If I get the opportunity to return I don't think a camera will be a priority.

If I thought my first encounter with Qantas was exciting my second trip was to be a major highlight of my career. "Looking In" was a general interest programme aimed at young people and in a weekly half hour covered subjects from magicians to model railways. And yes, there was one on hang gliding! Through his contacts the programme's director, Russell Thornton, was able to conjure up a deal that would see Qantas and Toshiba underwrite the production of three episodes of Looking In, one on Qantas and two on Toshiba. Clearly the programmes required international travel if they were to be of any substance. It was a plum job; over two weeks in South East Asia, Hong Kong, Japan and the Philippines, and it was mine. Just how true can dreams become? I had been to the States in 1974 and barely two years later I was again overseas bound.

But there were some downsides such as having to be in the Qantas kitchens in Sydney at 4.00 am to film the preparation and cooking of the meals that were to go on the flights. Food that would normally have been instantly salivating passed blandly in front of my lens as incongruities for a body that craved sleep over food. The consoling factor was that at some stage, somewhere between Sydney and Hong Kong, I would get to savour these culinary delights.

Our take off from Sydney airport was to be an embarrassing departure from the script. I had a privileged seat at the rear of the cockpit in order to control a camera with a wide angle lens that had been attached to the windscreen pillar and was shooting back to record the pilots' activities. As we approached lift off word came though from the tower that something appeared to be hanging from one of our wheel arches. The take off was aborted. 'World's safest airline' extracts a price. Despite the captain's urgent pleas to get us into a bay and fans on to the brakes we only just made it off the runway when the brakes welded themselves together and we were immobilised. We were to spend the next several hours sitting in the aircraft while the wheels and brakes were replaced. For bureaucratic reasons it was easier to keep the passengers on the aircraft and Qantas consequently continued to offer hospitality to placate restless souls. By closing the blinds I was able to film in-flight service without revealing the fake nature of our situation. It also avoided further imposing on the cabin crew when the real thing eventuated.

Hong Kong's night lights are very pretty but they were a consolation prize for the spectacular daylight approach into Hong Kong that I was hoping to film with our original schedule. Our delay in Sydney left us as one of the last aircraft into Hong Kong that night. The hair-raising taxi ride in from the airport coupled with an uncomfortable blend of South East Asian aromas and diesel taxi fumes was an unlikely welcome mat to this exotic part of the world.

Daylight revealed the fuller extent of my new work environment and I was captivated by the vastly different scenes and panoramas that surrounded me, "Is that really washing hanging from all those windows?" Irresistible imagery so I filmed everything in sight. With only a rough story line to work to it was a case of shoot first and we'll decide later on the editing bench. It was not an economical approach. I revelled in this never before seen environment and churned through film with cinematic indulgence. By the end of the trip I was to have consumed twice the amount of film that had been budgeted. Justifying my seemingly extravagant approach was easy - the film was still cheaper than the airfares.

"Bru?" "Yes Hide, blue." So went one of the many 'conversations' I was to have with Hide, the lighting technician that Toshiba had kindly provided for my assistance. I couldn't speak Japanese and Hide couldn't speak English but over nine days in Japan we developed an almost intuitive relationship. It transcended our language difficulties and remains one of the treasures of my career. And "Bru"? It referred to the special blue gel we used to put over our lights so that they matched daylight.

It was an intensive nine days filming everything from Toshiba's retail presence in Tokyo's Ginza strip to their manufacturing plants in Nagoya and elsewhere. Ginza's main street is six lanes wide, a far cry from Hunter Street. Filming traffic from the middle of Hunter Street is a little hazardous, filming traffic in the middle of Ginza is suicidal as I discovered in a brief foray into this mechanised mayhem that was Ginza's traffic. In one of those fortunate twists of fate that have punctuated my time behind the camera the truck missed me and I rapidly scuttled back to the overcrowded but comparatively safer footpath. In a country where suicide is an honourable way to die perhaps they thought I was looking for somebody to kick start my passage to a better life? My filming in Japan was to be a very fulfilling experience although I didn't envy Russell his task of having to condense several hours of material into three thirty minute programmes.

No woman has perhaps ever owned as many pairs of shoes as those reputed to have clogged the cupboards of Imelda Marcos, wife of the then President of the Philippines, Ferdinand Marcos. I think the shoes were just a distraction from her fairly significant real estate holdings including the hotel in which we stayed while filming there. But filming the sun setting over the water on the adjacent waterfront was a classic Kodak moment, complete with sampans on cue. Living on the east coast I had seen and filmed many sunrises over water but this was my first sunset over water and it was straight from the picture postcards. Irresistible and more footage for Russ to contend with. 

Leaving the Philippines strangely enough was more difficult than entering the country. The customs people were not going to clear my equipment for without the requisite paperwork showing that I had brought it in with me, the equipment was dutiable. The requisite paperwork, a carnet, had been taken from me by the lady assigned to oversee our time in the Philippines. A forceful personality she doggedly claimed to have never seen the carnet, a claim I strongly refuted. After some terse discussions we finally gained our clearance and thankfully departed the country.

Whistlestops like any shortcut come with inherent though not always obvious, risks. Taiwan was our whistlestop. It was enroute from Manila back to Hong Kong and while

we couldn't justify any substantial coverage of it we could at least recognise Qantas' link to the country by filming a Qantas jet landing at the airport. So I set up adjacent to the tarmac and awaited the arrival of Qantas' next scheduled flight, an innocent abroad. If I couldn't speak Japanese I certainly couldn't speak Taiwanese, but guns speak a universal language which only the brave or foolhardy ignore. It appears that the armed solider confronting me had not been told that I was approved to be standing there and he had a job to do. Obediently I followed his urgings to accompany him to an administrative building. The confusion was ultimately resolved and I got my shot tempered with a different view of authority to the Comparatively nonchalant approach applicable in Australia at that time. 

As I suspected the editing process proved quite challenging because of the volume of film involved and ultimately at least one of the episodes ran longer than its scheduled time which created a few headaches on air. The trip eclipsed all of my other international assignments before and since, because of the level of creative and professional satisfaction I gained from working in very different environments to those I had known.

The Diversion of Documentaries

"They shall grow not old" (as we that are left grow old) ...... words that to me say more about Australia than our national anthem. Those opening few words superimposed over a shot of the Anzac Day parade taken from the awning of a hotel looking up the mall was the kernel of an idea. It was not about the military or conflict but back in the very early 70's to my very naïve mind the Anzacs (some of whom who were then still participating in the march) captured the essence of ageing and the endurance of the human spirit. Fortunately Mary fleshed out the idea for me, exploring the various dimensions of life for old people in the Hunter. 

The gentler stories of ageing - gardening, bowls and retirement living were relatively easily captured and told. The darker side - the homeless, destitute and forgotten proved more difficult. We set out one night in search of these misbegotten 'phantoms' starting our quest in the empty railway carriages stored in the former East End railway marshalling yards. With only sporadic light from distant street lights furtively penetrating the carriages our journey down their eerily silent aisles was one of some trepidation. Uncertain as to what if anything we might find in the carriages and not wishing to draw attention to our presence (we were after all trespassing) I never used the portable light I was carrying for filming. Several tense carriages later, having searched all those we could access, we had to accept that on this night at least nobody was seeking refuge in the railway carriages. It is a cruel irony that trains now provide a "home" and "sustenance" for homeless kids. In the middle of winter railway guards knowingly turn a blind eye to these unfortunates. It may not be a home but it is warm and cosy in comparison to their alternatives. The crippling tentacles of neglect now entwine all ages.

Having drawn a blank in the railway carriages we proceeded to the old warehouses on Lee Wharf. We thought that nothing could be as spooky as the railway carriages but these soon to be derelict staging posts in the harbour's export trade rivalled the proverbial 'black hole of Calcutta'. It was difficult to even distinguish between the walls and the floor. I caught a sense of something moving in the stale and musty atmosphere. Was it a bird? A rat? A person? Most importantly, was it dangerous - a subconscious thought that such sensations suddenly call into focus? I had no desire to be a news story nor did Mary. As it was beyond the reach of my light answering those questions meant assaulting a mountain of accumulated filth and detritus encumbered by my equipment, a distinctly unattractive proposition. Ruling that luck was not running with me on this night I decided against pursuing the source of the movement and we headed for an old building (long since demolished) on the southern side of Birdwood Park.

Peering through a grated opening I faintly discerned a shadowy outline lying in the squalor that passes as a bed for these unfortunates. Unable to find my way into the building I was forced to film through the bars which severely tested the power of my light, the darkness of the final image an unspoken comment on the less than illuminating circumstances in which this person had found themselves. We had little to show for our night's efforts but on another night I happened on a man fast asleep in a bus shelter in Mayfield. To more fully capture the atmosphere I went around to the back of the shelter before turning on my light. By then walking around to the front of the shelter I was able to reveal him asleep but not for long as the bright light woke him up although only barely. I reassured him that everything was OK and he slumped back into his former torpor. Poor bugger probably woke the next morning wondering if the angels hadn't visited him during the night.

As I now approach life's realm formerly inhabited by the subjects of the documentary I regret that no copy ever survived. It would be an interesting social reflection to measure the participant's comments and our interpretation of them with the passage of time and the onset of some hoped for maturity.

In a much lighter vein was the documentary Mary and I did on rallying an exercise that introduced Mary to the sport and also her future husband, Dave Boddy. Entitled "Things That go Bump in the Night" the documentary was a simple story about car rallying in the Hunter Valley and featured well known local competitors including Peter Houghton, Tony Crossey and Ron Fraser. Incorporating Fin's endeavours gave the project its necessary corporate imprimatur to ensure its completion and subsequent telecasting.

Unsurprisingly it had a spectacular introduction. Out Awaba way is a road called Hawkmount which was notable for a slight rise that if approached at sufficient speed could launch a vehicle. Dave was recognised as one of the leading exponents of aerial motoring and kindly agreed to pilot his car over the jump one night to form part of the opening sequence for the documentary. Having filmed under motocross jumps I approached this task with a similar enthusiasm. Ever protective Mary determinedly ruled out any idea of me lying in the road to capture the airborne vehicle and I was forced to part bury in the road our reliable old spring wound Bell and Howell camera - it was expendable.

Dave's car was a tiger in sheep's clothing, To the casual observer it was a ubiquitous white XW Falcon. But underneath the bonnet was a purposeful V8 which Dave unerringly directed with great gusto. The sound of him charging through the forest at night was like the howl of the banshee that would send shivers down the spines of most people. For we enthusiasts it was like a drug that we couldn't get enough of. Even though on this night we had some idea of what to expect the air still crackled in anticipation. As the camera could only film for 30 seconds before it needed rewinding timing was crucial; started too soon and it would run out of wind before the action, started too late and I could end up plastered across the bonnet. Remote control devices for such cameras did not exist.

Having started the camera running I reached the comparative safety of the edge of the road as Dave's contribution to daylight saving burst on to the scene illuminating everything for the next mile or so including me looking a little like a frightened rabbit caught in the spotlight. The car flew effortlessly over the camera leaving Mary and I choking in the ensuing dust. It was a spectacular performance made more so by the nature of the car's pilot. Dave would look more at home as a jockey on a thoroughbred rather than behind the wheel of this mechanised delinquent. His slight build and eternally boyish looks enhanced by an impish grin belied the dominating but meticulous manner in which he flung the Ford through the forests.

Not everything to do with the documentary had such a fairytale ending. Although now owner of one of the largest car dealerships on the Central Coast, back then Brian Hilton was selling Peugeots as well as rallying them. Dog Trap road was the closest available section of gravel road that we could access and despite being in daylight I gambled that we would be able to capture some realistic looking in-car footage of him pedalling his Pug. And I did capture such footage except that a car came the other way at a most inopportune time. Fortunately Brian was a very smooth driver but the greasy surface of the road unexpectedly allowed the car to drift off line and we gently nudged the approaching car. Fortunately only minor damage occurred and as Brian graciously offered to fix the other car for free nothing more was heard of the incident. It's probably a good thing that such gambles wouldn't even be contemplated today.

The Roving Eye

If television ratings could have been measured in five minute segments then I'm sure that "The Roving Eye" would have topped Channel 3's ratings. A cross between a magazine programme and the equivalent of newspapers' social pages it was a five minute programme that aired around 8.30 pm five nights a week. I once appeared on it in a high school presentation of; Shakespeare's Henry the Fifth. Uncomfortably, for me at least, the scene that was aired was one requiring me to kiss one of my colleagues, Jane Diplock. I was never going to be a thespian nor was I into public displays of emotion or even girls, I much preferred surfing. I never saw the segment go to air nor ever was I able to find it in Channel 3's files. Perhaps some things are better lost to history. While I pursued television leaving Belmont High Jane entered the public service rising to the position of Director General of TAFE and is now Chairman of the New Zealand Securities Commission… "some are born great, some achieve Greatness... ", isn't that Shakespeare again? 

As a measure of the popularity of The Roving eye we would arrive at a news story and people would first ask us if we were from The Roving Eye - even if the story was a fatal accident! I'm not sure who felt the most let down, us because we reasoned that news was vastly superior to The Roving Eye or the people when they realised that their opportunity for 'fifteen minutes of fame' had largely disappeared because of the more insistent demands of news for brevity. One of my first Roving eye assignments was a cat show. Except this one was being held in a lady's home specifically for the benefit of The Roving Eye. Somehow or other it wasn't a privilege I would have sought. It took two hours for all of the participants to arrive by which time I had already consumed enough film to have filled the complete Roving Eye programme. The fact that I am now allergic to cats might have its roots in this exercise. 

With my penchant for more active subject matter that cats I was able to cover such things as waterskiing and motocross competitions. The story lines at times were a little thin but in the case of waterskiing the footage I shot was of the famous Cockburn family; father Sandy and progeny Bruce, Graeme and Lesley. Only youngsters at the time I filmed them they nevertheless were to dominate the sport in Australia in the '70's with Bruce collecting a swag of awards over the years including competing in the 1972 Olympics. Lesley married a young sales representative, Greg Puxty. In a typical Newcastle connection Greg was to achieve prominence leading Channel 3's sales staff for many years.

Fetes and fund raising activities were common fare for Roving Eye, activities that I would generally shun. But when my church (yes there was a time when I believed) undertook such an activity I had little choice, particularly as it was over the road from where I lived. To enliven the footage of the fete I filmed a working bee on the site of the church's proposed new building a week prior to the fete then put the two together. It made a reasonable story, particularly as the church was ultimately able to afford to build its brand new building. But that was then. Although it was a perfectly good building albeit a church it was demolished some years back and the land, a premium block at that, remains vacant and weed infested, mute testament to the rise of secularism, the congregation now relegated to a room at the rear of the local gymnasium.